


The Consequence of Love

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, season 5 dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: On a dull January  day in 1800, Demelza and Ross Poldark think about their children and what's to come.(Post season 4, episode 8 fanfiction)





	The Consequence of Love

It was a cold January day and though the Nampara hearths were kept ablaze, a bitter winter chill could still be felt throughout the old stone house.

Everything seemed grey. The sky had held on to a smokey hue since morning and could only be expected to darken as the afternoon wore on. There had been little snow in Cornwall that winter, only some freezing rain that left the yard a sea of desolate mud. It wasn't even the sable brown mud of spring--rich and promising of life--only flat leaden grey. All life outdoors seemed dead and unable to be revived.

And Ross would be leaving them and returning to London soon. That lent a grey mood to things indoors as well.

Demelza tried her best to be cheering but they had run out of things to celebrate. Christmas had passed, so had the New Year--and the beginning of a new century. Drake and Morwenna’s wedding was some time ago. The days ahead seemed long and empty.

Clowance, the youngest Poldark, was particularly fretful. On these dark days, her brother Jeremy could be content to read or to draw, to get lost in his own mind, but Clowance needed to be engaged for every moment she was awake until her curly head hit the pillow at night. And even when Jeremy would play with her, it never really worked to her advantage. Older and better able to strategise, he’d always beat her at cards or checkers. And stubborn like her father, she did not enjoy losing.

At least in other seasons they could all be together outdoors, side by side, and if the children weren't always helpful to Demelza as she worked, they wouldn't necessarily be in her way. And though they tried, it was harder to make a game of inside chores. Polishing the silver or sweeping the hearth ashes could only entertain for so long.

“Come Clowance, my lover. Let’s go see to the cow, shall we?” Demelza said brightly, taking her daughter’s hand in hers.

Their cow gave so little milk in winter but every drop counted. Even just a little cream to go with their porridge, maybe enough for some butter--that would surely brighten a dreary January meal. Regardless, even a fruitless visit to the cowshed might prove a diversion for her youngest child.

“Mama!” Clowance tugged at her skirt as they stepped into the yard.

Without uttering a word of either encouragement nor complaint, Demelza lifted her daughter to her hip. At six years of age, Clowance was certainly too big for this but it was an old habit for them both. As expected, Clowance’s dirty little shoes wrapped around Demelza’s waist, smearing mud on both her aproned front and the seat of her long green work skirt. Demelza saw the girl’s once-white stockings were grey like everything else around them now.  

 _Maybe it will be easier to keep her clean and dainty when she’s older_ , Demelza thought.

Still Demelza held her tight with one arm while she toted the empty milk pail in the other. She tried to appreciate every gesture of affection from her daughter, to reward Clowance’s sweetness with that of her own-- and to mask any impatience or disquiet Demelza might have been feeling that day.

Even when an infant, Clowance had been very attuned to her mother’s moods. If Demelza was happy, so was Clowance. If Demelza was in any way distressed, the little girl would still tear up immediately. Demelza marveled that such a round and cherubic little thing could at once be so gay and also so fragile.

But, conceived in the fever of reconciliation, Clowance represented everything that was strong--and everything delicate--in Demelza’s and Ross’s love.

And their others?

Jeremy was the result of two desperate hearts, joining together, trying their best to console a hurt that could never be truly mended. What a burden he’d always carry.

From the start Demelza had loved him with a fierce devotion whereas Ross had had to deliberately unlock his heart for the boy. She was reminded of an old neighbour she once knew back in Illugin, who lost the use of his legs when a cart rolled over him. A grown man, he had to slowly relearn to walk, a skill that had come easily, naturally to him when young. So it had been with Ross, having to consciously remember how to love a child.

And their first? Julia? Yes, she had been made from the sweetness of a new love yet untested.  

 _She’d be twelve this year if she’d lived_ , Demelza thought as she came upon the barn door.

At once she was overcome by the damp, the stale air, the steamy breath of the musky animals in the barn. She’d been feeling breathless for days now and the extra weight she’d just hefted hadn’t helped. She set Clowance down and leaned against the door frame, putting the back of her hand to her mouth. She tried taking a step inside but her head spun. The wet straw stinking of piss was more than she could bear. She turned back to face the yard and breathed in deeply.

The cold wind felt good on her face but she knew she couldn’t stay outside any longer.

“Mama?” Clowance asked.

“Yes, my dearest. I’m coming.”

\----

Ross entered the dim, empty hallway but heard a fuss coming from elsewhere in the house. For years it had been his habit to stay at the mine attending to its needs until late into the evening. But since he was only home from London for such a short while this winter, he felt his attentions were better spent with his wife and children. The mine captains would aptly attend to the business of Grace. His business lay here.

He pushed open the kitchen door to hear Clowance wailing. She was standing on a stool in front of the fire, dressed only in her shift. Her muddied frock and wet stockings were laid over the back of a nearby chair. Prudie was drying her off with some towelling while Jeremy sat at the table smirking at the whole scene, a pile of half-peeled potatoes in front of him.

“What in God’s name is wrong, my dear?” Ross asked.

“‘Tis alright, ole Prudie will take care of ‘ee. Come little mite, I’ll get ‘ee warm and fitty straightaways,” Prudie cooed to the girl, rubbing her vigorously.

“Papa!” Clowance cried. “Mama spilt me in the mud--and the milk too!”

Ross bit his lip to contain a chuckle.

“T’was a shame for we’d gotten a fair bit of milk, hadn’t we, Clowance?” Demelza said as she reentered in the kitchen and put down the empty pail she’d just retrieved from the yard. “I dropped her first before I lost hold of the milk pail,” she added.

“Then you were holding too many things, it seems,” Ross chided.

He rumpled Jeremy’s hair, then walked around to his tear-stained daughter, who stood shivering and whimpering by the fire. He put his hand on her head and looked at her tenderly.

“There, there, Clowance. You don’t appear to be harmed. Prudie will to attend to you--and then we can put this misadventure behind us for the remainder of the evening.” His voice was gentle but the little girl understood all the same that the time for tears was over.

“Yes, Papa,” she sniffled, pushing her long blonde curls aside and wiping her dirty pink cheeks. Then she smiled at him with her pale grey eyes.

Ross always found himself moved by his daughter's smile, maybe more than any other he’d ever known. He felt his heart skip a beat and his hand lingered on her damp head longer than he had intended.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry there won’t be any fresh cream tonight after all.” Demelza continued to busy about the kitchen.  

Ross had yet to take a good look at his wife since arriving home but sensed she appeared paler than usual, perhaps even a bit tired, her face thinner.

“You’re home earlier than we expected, Ross. We better get a move on with supper. Hadn’t we?”

Ross could tell she was trying her best to sound cheerful to allay Clowance’s distress.

He watched as Demelza untied her wet apron and, tentatively, put it to her face for a sniff. She wrinkled her nose and dropped it at once in a basket of other soiled things. Apparently it had taken on a sour smell and would need to be laundered. She then stooped at the wood box to pick up more kindling for the fire.

She hadn’t stopped moving since she came in. Ross thought he should make himself more useful and so leaving Clowance’s side, he took up the poker to stir the fire.

“Ross,” Demelza began and stood up quickly, her arms full of dried ash branches she’d gathered with the children that autumn.

But she never finished her sentence.

Ross heard the wood hit the flags behind him then turned to see Demelza crumpled on the floor.

\----

“What's happenin'?” Demelza murmured.

She was lying on their bed with Ross leaning over her. Her shoes and stockings were removed and her bodice was unlaced. Ross seemed to be in the process of further undressing her when he saw she had come to.

“Now that you're awake I was hoping you could tell me that. You seem to have fainted in our kitchen,” Ross said.

“How'd I get here?” she asked, still dazed.

“I carried you.”

“The children! They must be frightened,” she cried.

“It was a good opportunity for the children to see their Papa taking care of Mama for a change,” he said with a smile and took her hand in his. “Where is your nightgown? Then as soon as you are able to sit up, I’ll have Prudie call for Dwight.”

“Nay, Ross, it’s too early for night things. And no need for Dwight. I’ll be better. Am already, see?” she smiled weakly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m thinking of the last time I had to fully undress you by myself,” he said softly. He still hadn’t let go of her hand and now clasped it tighter. “When we first arrived in London.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Does it pain you still to speak of that? Of the love we shared when we first arrived in our rooms?” he dared to ask.

“Yes, well I see now we must. I suppose this is but the natural consequences of you and I in London--together.”

“What do you mean?” he looked her, his dark eyes glistening, questioning.  

She’d seen those same eyes wild with fury and with passion, but now-- still burning with love--they were tempered and mild, almost scared. It was a look he’d honed in their more uncertain moments. Times he’d forced through a barrier to initiate a conversation that would thus change the very course they travelled together. How many such moments had they shared in recent years? Perhaps too many.

“Oh Ross, this feelin’ queasy? Feelin’ faint? I’m with child again. I’m well acquainted with the unmistakable symptoms by now,” she said, then added with an arched brow, “I did warn you t’would happen.”

“Really? With child? And again you waited to tell me?”

“I wasn’t aimin’ to deceive you, Ross, just wanted to make sure. Then I didn't want to put it in a letter. And mostly I didn’t want you to fuss so,” she said, patting his hand.

She tried to sit up and at once he moved with tender care to put another pillow behind her.

“You always seem so surprised, Ross,” she laughed. “You've lived on a farm some forty years and don’t recognise the natural consequence of when a male and a female join together?”

“It’s denial I assure you,” he said.

“Are you displeased?” She hesitated but didn't really believe he would be.

“As with each other time, I’m filled with joy and fear in equal measure. And as each year passes and I realise how utterly indispensable you are to me, the terror could only worsen, Demelza.”

“Don’t worry for me. Women give birth to babies every day and have since the beginning of time,” she said.

“And they die in childbirth every day,” he replied grimly. Immediately he wished he hadn’t actually spoken those words aloud.

Neither of them said more about what was very much on their minds at present--Elizabeth Warleggan's recent death after delivering a daughter.

“Ross, as you’ve oft reminded me before you’ve sought some adventure or ‘nother, just by livin’ we are all hostages to our fate!” She laced her fingers through his then squeezed his hand again. “But if you’re so afraid p’rhaps we’d best avoid each other in future and only shake hands to show our love?” she jested, trying to lessen his gloom. “Besides it won’t be too long you’ll find me unbearable to look at.”

“You know that has never been the case before. Each time you have been with child, my appetite for you has only grown…”

“As has my belly?” she laughed. “Really, I’ve been brave with all the others. No reason to believe this time will be any different. Maybe it will be another boy.”

“Or another daughter, like you.”

“Well a daughter like you would be somethin’, wouldn’t it!” Demelza laughed again. “I wonder how the children will respond to the news?”

“Jeremy is so devoted to you and will follow your lead entirely I suppose. He’ll relish yet another opportunity to establish himself as the responsible older brother,” Ross suggested.

“Yes, he has taken that role quite seriously since you went to Parliament.” She didn't notice the new shadow of sadness that washed over Ross’s face. “But Clowance? She’s just a babe yet herself...” she continued.

“Demelza, she is not,” Ross said solemnly. “She’s a strong sturdy girl with a generous, loving heart. Just like her mother. We _both_ baby her entirely too much but I think if we show her how being a big sister is advantageous to her and how she will have so many more freedoms than an infant, she’ll be content to do her part.”

“She was quite fascinated with baby Sarah Enys,” Demelza conceded.

“And you can start at once by no longer carrying her about,” Ross reminded her.

Demelza knew he was right. The strain earlier had been too much. She didn't recall feeling that weak that when she was expecting Clowance. Then again Jeremy had been such an active little boy and liked to run around on his own. And Demelza had been younger herself.  

So much had happened in seven years. Had it really aged her that much?

“I’ll just have to tell her gently,” she murmured.

“Let me tell them both. I thought to take them down to Hendrawna before supper,” Ross offered.

“Not bathing! Ross! In January?” she exclaimed.

“No, of course not. Just a walk,” he reassured her. “Unless you are now one of the fashionable London ladies who believes fresh air is dangerous?”

“Hardly, we all need more air this time of year. Ross, I feel braver already...p’rhaps I should go with you?”

“You will not. You will rest and let Prudie--who is still our servant, need I remind you--see to supper. You mustn’t do everything, Demelza,” he said firmly but tenderly. “Perhaps if I tell the children this news they’ll understand I’m still part of this family.”

“Is that a worry for you Ross?” she cried. “As if anyone here would ever forget you!”

He pulled her close to him and kissed her head, then her cheek, then her lips.

“I’m not sure how I shall bear it, Demelza, leaving you again. Especially now, knowing your current condition,” he whispered.

“Oh Ross, we’ll be fine. As we always are,” she said gently, putting a finger to his soft lips. “You’ll be back soon. Will you not?”

“As soon as I’m able, my love." He kissed her again then rested his forehead against hers. They stayed that way for several moments, nuzzling close, each breathing in the smell of the other’s skin.

“You know when we were at Drake’s wedding I kept looking at our Clowance and thinking it won’t be long before some young man comes to ask for her hand,” Ross said at last.

“Ross!” Demelza now laughed away such an absurd notion.

“That is, if they ask. Maybe she’ll care nought for her family’s wishes for her to marry well and she'll run away with a rogue,” he continued. “Would serve me right, I suppose.”

“Oh Ross, Clowance would never be afraid to ask, no matter. With a father who gives her everything she wants? Have you ever said no to her?” Demelza asked with an incredulous smile.

“I suppose there was once she fancied pushing Jeremy over a cliff and I did not indulge her then,” he said wrly, then moved back to his grey thoughts. “Jeremy will leave too, you know. Perhaps he’ll move to another land entirely to seek his fortune.”

“Whatever has caused you to be so _maudlin_ , Ross? Is that the right word?” she asked.

“Yes, it will suffice. It’s a rather fine word for my coarse mood tonight,” he agreed then smiled at her. “I recall when your favourite words were all curses,” he teased.

“You liked me better when I was seventeen?”

“No, I prefer you as you are now.”

“Old?”

“Not old but seasoned. You are like a fine bronze sculpture of a Roman goddess and over time your beauty hasn’t lessened nor your figure altered. You’ve only acquired a slight patina, which highlights your curves and adds to your allure,” he said.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, Ross. I’ll have to take your word that a patina is good to have,” she said.

“Yes, you have, Demelza,” he reminded her. “The sculptures we saw in London. The bronze ones in the gardens all had patinas.”

“You mean I’m green?” she asked.

“No, you are a treasured ornament, made more beautiful for having been cherished for years.”

“I don’t think I’d like to be an ornament Ross. I’d rather be doin’ than be set aside and only occasionally looked at.”

Ross held her hand up to the side of his face while he placed his other on her belly.

“No, Demelza, you are to be appreciated and embraced every day. And no matter what the fates have in mind for us, my love, you will always be my greatest treasure,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm (as always) most grateful to the glorious Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield, who have given these characters life and dialogue that I'm reckless enough to toy with. The idea that we are "hostages to our fate" is directly borrowed from The Angry Tide and some spirit of conversation between Ross & Demelza was inspired by one of the most charming exchanges between them (ever) in The Miller's Dance (if you haven't read that, go do so now). Also this story plays with the family timeline that WG sets out by 2 years (apologies but seemed like something DH might do).
> 
> I'm nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to continue the conversation.


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